Cover reveal for Suvi’s Revenge by Brenda Trim & Tami Julka

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About the Authors:

Neither Brenda nor Tami grew up writing stories or dreaming
of one day being authors but that changed when they shared a joint dream of creating a world to bring to life the stories of a group of dangerously handsome supernaturals.
Brenda is a Southern California girl who grew up in chaos, having ten siblings. Her mother is a brave, courageous woman who gave birth to
a small village of children and has successfully battled advanced stage breast cancer for almost two years. Her parents did something right and taught Brenda how to persevere and accomplish whatever she set her mind to. Whether that was completing her bachelors and Masters degrees, or writing books, she is always up for a challenge.
Brenda survived the brutal murder of her first husband, John DeCaprio, at the hands of the children he was counseling to go on and help children in similar situations. Brenda remarried years later and now lives with her husband and their three fun-loving, energetic children. She loves running, reading, cooking, and Monster Energy drinks. And, Tami’s margaritas!
Tami is a southern girl, born and raised in Georgia. She is married and has two boys, so needless to say, she is surrounded by
testosterone. We are trying to bottle Tami’s strength and positive outlook on life. It has helped her beat breast cancer and she is a proud three-year survivor. She loves reading paranormal romances, running at the lake near her home, watching college football (Go Dawgs!!!), and is always in search of the next best margarita.
Their life journeys led them both to Texas and one another. They fast became best friends and can always be found together. Whether it’s lounging by the pool or writing steamy love scenes, they are frequently seen pissing themselves from laughter. It’s embarrassing, really. But that’s ok, life is good!!
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Title:  Suvi’s Revenge
Series:  Rowan Sisters’ Trilogy #3
Authors:   Brenda Trim
and Tami Julka
Genre:  Paranormal
Recommended Age:  18+

Suvi is the youngest of the Rowan triplets, but prefers high heels to combat boots, and always choose the club over the battlefield. Unfortunately, if she isn’t rebuilding the business she shares with her sisters, she’s searching for their archenemy, Cele. Through all of the trials that Suvi and her sisters have been through with her sister’s mates, Suvi believes they’ve done their part, and it’s time for a celebration, but that isn’t in the cards for her. Suvi has waited her entire life to meet her Fated
Mate, the man who she is meant to spend the rest of her life with, but when she finally meets him, she isn’t able to plan the party of the century. Instead, she and her sisters have seventy-two hours to investigate a murder, locate a rogue vampire and stop an evil witch from stealing their powers. Oh, and save her mate from a death sentence. She wants nothing more than to spend her days and nights in sensual oblivion with her vampire, but the clock is ticking, and her mate’s life along with it.
Caine DuBray’s world is upended when he wakes up next to a human female that has been drained dry. As the only vampire on scene, her death is immediately pinned on him. He believes he is innocent, but he can’t recall the details of their date. Rather than executing him immediately, the Vampire King gives him three days to prove his innocence, and points him to the Rowan
Sisters, notorious for their growing powers and talent. He discovers that one of the witches he is directed to is his Fated Mate and their passion sets him on fire, leaving him desperate for the chance to spend eternity with the sexy witch. Will they be able to save him, or will Suvi face eternity without her Fated Mate?
A God stood before her. A male well above six feet tall with a firmly muscled body took up the entrance. He wasn’t like most supernatural males either. Most were rugged and casual, preferring jeans and t-shirts. There were the exceptions and this male was one hell of an exception in his black two-piece suit that was tailored to his sculpted body like a work of art. His
shaggy black hair didn’t fit his attire as disheveled as it was, falling into his green eyes. 

The sensation of electricity rippling through her veins stunned Suvi. There was always a rush when she practiced magic, but this was so much more than that. She was captured by his gaze and her entire being woke to pay attention. She noticed the haggard look on his face as he loosened his blue pin-striped tie, walking into the store. The way he moved reminded her of a panther and she wanted desperately to be his prey.
“What’s wrong with Suvi, daddy?” She heard Donovan ask and Braeden’s chuckle.

“You’ll understand some day, son. Come on. Let’s go get some ice cream down the street.” She heard the door sound again when Braeden and Donovan left but she didn’t move, she couldn’t, she was rooted to the spot.

Caught in an erotic trance, Suvi was aware that she was gawking and speechless. In her defense, any female would be in this male’s presence. The touch of her sisters brought her out of it, and she blushed with her embarrassment.

“Are you the Rowan sisters?” The somber note to his deep voice had Suvi doing a double take and that’s when she noted the haunted look to his gorgeous green eyes. She wondered what put that look there and oddly, she wanted to put a smile on his face and make that expression disappear.
Pema extended her hand. “Yes, we are. I’m Pema and these are my sisters, Isis and Suvi,” she pointed to them in turn. “How can we help you?” Suvi noticed how Ronan had abandoned hanging shelves and come to stand directly behind Pema.

“I’m not sure where to begin and I don’t even know if you can do anything.” He seemed nervous and out of sorts and Suvi wanted to promise him she’d move heaven and earth to help him. “I’m Caine DuBray. Jace and Zander thought maybe
you three could help me with this situation I have suddenly found myself in. It’s a nightmare really.” He paused and placed his hands in his pockets. She saw the muscles flexed in his neck from clenching his jaw tightly.

Suvi was inexplicably drawn to him and overcome with a fierce need to erase the shadows. She wanted to draw him into her arms and hold him tightly. She knew what would put a smile on his face and she was happy to oblige. Not that she was being entirely selfless given that she was pretty sure it would put a smile on hers, too.

Review for The Color of our Sky by Amita Trasi

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Title: The Color of Our Sky
Author: Amita Trasi
Publisher: Bloomhill Books
Pages: 304
Genre: Women’s Fiction/Suspense
Format: Paperback/Kindle

The Color of Our Sky 2

A sweeping, emotional journey of two childhood friends—one struggling to survive the human slave trade and the other on a mission to save her—two girls whose lives converge only to change one fateful night in 1993.

India, 1986: Mukta, a ten-year-old girl from the lower caste Yellamma cult of temple prostitutes has come of age to fulfill her destiny of becoming a temple prostitute. In an attempt to escape this legacy that binds her, Mukta is transported to a foster family in Bombay. There she discovers a friend in the high spirited eight-year-old Tara, the tomboyish daughter of the family, who helps her recover from the wounds of her past. Tara introduces Mukta to a different world—ice cream and sweets, poems and stories, and a friendship the likes of which she has never experienced before. In 1993, Mukta is kidnapped from Tara’s room. 

Eleven years later, Tara who blames herself for what happened, embarks on an emotional journey to search for the kidnapped Mukta only to uncover long buried secrets in her own family.

Moving from a remote village in India to the bustling metropolis of Bombay, to Los Angeles and back again, amidst the brutal world of human trafficking, this is a heartbreaking and beautiful

portrait of an unlikely friendship—a story of love, betrayal, and redemption—which ultimately withstands the true test of time.

For More Information:

The Color of Our Sky is available at Amazon.

Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

Read Chapter One here.

Book Excerpt:

The memory of that moment hit me like a surging ocean wave—drawing me into it—the sour smell of darkness, those sobs erupting like an echo from a bottomless pit. I had tried to break away from it for so long I had forgotten that places can have memories too. I stood in the dimly lit corridor outside my childhood home and tried to unlock the door. The keys rattled in my hand and fell to the floor. This was proving to be more difficult than I had thought. One deep breath and you will find the courage Papa used to tell me when I was a child. Now, in my mid-twenties, here I was, standing outside this locked door, feeling like a child once again.

I picked up the keys and tried again. The doors creaked as I managed to push them open. The apartment was dark. Outside, the sky thundered and rain rammed the rooftops. A stray slant of sunlight fell on furniture that had gathered dust over the years, and I stood in that unlit room looking at the old cobwebs crowding the corners of what had once been my home. I switched on the lights and wiped the dust off my writing desk with a smooth stroke of my hand. It is just an apartment, I told myself. But there were so many things from my childhood here—my writing desk where Papa had sat down next to me, teaching me how to write, and the couch where we had watched television together as a family.

In my bedroom, my bed stood neatly covered, just the way I had left it. I could hear the sound of our laughter, smell my childhood—the food Aai used to cook and lovingly feed me—that wafting floral smell of saffron in the pulao, turmeric perfumed dal, the sweet rasgullas. There wasn’t any such smell of course, not anymore. All that was left was just a musty odor from closed doors, from buried secrets.

A cloud of dust erupted as I parted the curtains. Outside, the rain was falling softly, leaves cradling the raindrops. The scene was still the same as when Papa and I had moved away to Los Angeles eleven years ago: the zooming in and out of traffic, the honking of rickshaws and cars, the distant barking of stray dogs, the sprawled slums in the distance. Standing here, my suitcases lonely in the doorway, I understood why Papa had never tried to sell or rent this apartment. After making a home in America for eleven years, he had hoped to return one day to search for Mukta. After all, this was where she was kidnapped.

It is said that time heals everything. I don’t think that’s true. As the years have gone by, I’ve found it odd how simple things can still remind you of those terrible times or how the moment you try so hard to forget becomes your sharpest memory.

I stepped out of my apartment that day determined to find answers. The taxi drivers stood in a queue, waiting, hoping, begging you to take a ride from them. There was something about this city that I would never forget. I could see it everywhere, smell it, hear it—the dreams that lingered on people’s faces, the smell of sweat and grime, the sound of distant chaos in the air. This was where it had happened—where walls had blown apart, vehicles had blown away,

simple shards of glass had splintered lives, and our loved ones had become memories. Standing here, an image of Aai floated before my eyes, waiting for me somewhere, her kohl-lined eyes tearing up as she took me in her arms. It was different before the blasts had come and taken her away.

“Madam, I taking you anywhere you wanting to go,” a taxi driver called out.

“No here, here . . .” another taxi driver waved.

I nodded to one of them and he hurriedly got behind the wheel. It began drizzling as I stepped inside. The rain fell softly around us.

“Take me to the police station in Dadar,” I told him.

“Madam, you coming from foreign, no? I understanding from the way you speaking. I taking you to the bestest hotels in Mumbai. You will—”

“Take me to the police station,” I repeated, sternly.

The driver was quiet the rest of the way, humming quietly to the tune of Bollywood music roaring through the speakers in his taxi. Outside, the slum dwellers and street children picking through garbage rolled past us. Heat hovered over the city despite the drizzle, and the wind smelled of smoke, curry, and drains. People still walked dangerously close to the speeding traffic, rickshaws sputtered alongside, and beggars knocked on my taxi window asking for money. The footpaths still housed many of the poor who lived in makeshift tents, women haggled with hawkers in the bazaars, and men loitered in corners giving vacant stares. Behind them, Bollywood movie posters on walls announced the latest movies.

When I was a child, Papa had taken me for a walk on these very streets. Once I had accompanied Aai to the bazaars and haggled with shopkeepers alongside her. And there was a time I had sat in the backseat of a taxi with Mukta next to me while Papa had taken us to the Asiatic library. How excitedly I had shown her the sea, the garden, and introduced her to my world. How many times had she walked with me to my school, carrying my schoolbag, or sat with me on the park bench slurping iced golas? Now, sitting in the backseat of this taxi, my stomach churned. These moments seemed to paralyze me; I was unable to breathe, as if the crime I had committed was slowly strangling me. I pressed my face closer to the open window and forced myself to breathe.

“Here madam, that’s the police station,” the driver announced as he pulled over.

It was raining very hard when the taxi came to a stop, the wipers whipping wildly against the windshield. I stepped into ankle-deep water as I got down, the rain beating against my umbrella. I paid the taxi driver. In the distance, near the garbage cans, children in raincoats splashed water on each other, their giggles coming in waves.

At the station, I found a place on the bench in the corner and dropped my purse in my lap. Eleven years ago Papa and I had sat on one such bench in this police station, waiting for hours, to understand what had happened to us, trying to make sense of it all. Now, as I sat straight, sandwiched between strangers waiting their turn, I wished Papa were sitting beside me. In a way, I still carried him with me—his remains—his ashes, capped tightly in a bottle in my purse. I had brought them here to disperse in the river, something I needed to do, something that was in accordance with his last wishes.

A constable sat at a table nearby, his head behind a mountain of files; another sat behind him at another table, listening to complaints and noting them in a register, while yet

another sat on a chair not far away, his head buried in a newspaper. A chaiwala rushed past us carrying chai, placing the glasses of brown liquid on every table. Outside, police sirens pierced the air, and the policemen dragged two handcuffed men inside.

The woman before me sobbed and urged the constable to find her missing son. He yawned, scribbled something in the register, and then shooed her away. When it was my turn, I sat in front of him. He rubbed his eyes. “What is your complaint now?” he asked, sounding bored.

“I want to speak to your senior inspector.”

He looked up from his register and narrowed his eyes, “About what, madam?”

The wooden board behind him had a chart of the number of murders and kidnappings this year and the cases they had solved.

“It is about a kidnapping that happened eleven years ago. A girl was kidnapped. My father filed a report then.”

“Eleven years?” The constable raised his eyebrows. “And you want to search for her now?”

I nodded.

He looked at me curiously and sighed. “Okay, you wait,” he said, then walked to a closed room and knocked on the door. An inspector opened the door; the constable pointed to me and whispered something. The inspector gave me a glance and then walked toward me.

“Inspector Pravin Godbole,” he said, shaking my hand and introducing himself as the senior inspector of the station.

“I have . . . I am . . . looking for a girl who was kidnapped. Please, you have to help me. I-I just arrived after a long flight from America.”

“Give me a few minutes please; I have someone in my office. I can review your case after that.”

The constable escorted me to his office after some time. Inspector Godbole had sharp, intelligent eyes that I hoped would be able to see what others had been unable to see. He asked me to take a seat. His hat with the emblem Satyamev Jayate—truth alone triumphs—sat on the desk.

“What can I do for you?”

I sat down, opened my wallet, and teased out the photograph. How young we looked then—Mukta and I—standing outside the Asiatic library. He took it from my hand and looked at the photograph.

“I am looking for her, for the girl in the photograph,” I said.

“Which one?” he asked, squinting at the photograph.

“The one on the right, that’s me. The other one—she was kidnapped eleven years ago.”

His eyebrows angled upward. “Eleven years ago?”

“Uh . . . yes. She was kidnapped from our home just after the 1993 bomb blasts. I was in the room with her when it happened.”

“So you saw the kidnapper?”

I paused.

“No . . . not really,” I lied.

The inspector nodded.

“Her name was . . . is Mukta. She was a girl . . . an orphan my parents fostered.” I explained, “My Papa was a kind man. He used to work with many NGOs and orphanages in his spare time to find a home for abandoned children. Sometimes he brought them back to our apartment. He rescued street children or poor kids from villages—one or two at a time—and let them stay in our home. They slept in the kitchen, ate food Aai made, and then in a few days Papa found them a place at one orphanage or another. Papa did good any opportunity he got. With Mukta . . . he tried so hard. Something happened to her back in her village. She just didn’t speak for a long time. She—”

“I see, I see,” he interrupted. “We’ll try to find her.”

I wanted to tell him that, unlike the other kids who had lived with us for barely a week or two, Mukta had been with us for five years. And that she was a good friend. I wanted to tell him how she liked reading poems and was afraid of the rain . . . and that we had wanted to grow up together.

“Ms. Tara?”

“My . . . my father had filed an FIR back then . . . of . . . of the kidnapping.”

The inspector took a deep breath, scratched the stubble on his chin, and brought the photograph close to his face, staring at the picture. The photograph was worn out and wrinkled by age like a precious memory frozen in time, both of us smiling at the camera.

“Ms. Tara, this was such a long time ago. She will be . . . older now. And we don’t have a recent picture. It will be very difficult to search for someone without a recent picture. But let me have a look at her file. I will have to contact the missing person’s bureau. Why look for a poor village child after all these years? Has she stolen something precious from your home? Like an heirloom or something?”

“No. No . . . it’s just . . . Papa worked so hard to give the other children a home. I suppose Papa thought Mukta was the only one who slipped through the cracks . . . someone he couldn’t protect. He never forgave himself for that. At the time the police told us they had searched for her. Papa told me she was dead. Maybe a police inspector told him that. I don’t know. Papa took me to America after that. I . . . I didn’t know she was alive. I found some documents in his drawer after his death. He had been searching for her. And all this time he had been looking for her, I thought she was dead.”

“Nobody looks for such children who have disappeared madam. Look at all the children living in the slums—there is no one to take proper care of them, let alone worry how they are doing if they disappear.”

I looked at him, not saying anything. There hasn’t been a moment in the last eleven years that I haven’t wanted to wander back to that summer night, to that split second when I could have done something to stop it. I knew who the kidnapper was; I had always known. I had planned it after all. But I didn’t tell the inspector this, I couldn’t. There would be way more things I would have to reveal than just that.

He flicked the photograph in his hand and sighed loudly. “Give me a few days. I will look through the files. We are backlogged with many cases now. You can give the constable all the details.” He signaled to him and asked him to escort me outside.

“Thank you very much,” I said, standing up.

At the door I turned to him again. “It would be great if you can help me find her.” He

lifted his head momentarily and gave me a slight nod before going back to his work. It took the constable a few minutes to take down the details.

I left the station and stood on the porch watching the police jeeps parked outside, constables carrying files, people waiting impatiently, and suddenly it seemed futile to have come to this place, to have asked for their help. They hadn’t even asked the right questions: Did I remember the day when it happened? What were the sounds I heard before I knew what was happening? The exact time on the bedroom clock? Why did the kidnapper not kidnap me instead? Why did I not scream? Why did I not wake up Papa who was sleeping in the next room? If they had asked me those questions, I was afraid the truth would come spilling out of me.

My review:

Inspirational. Riveting. Heart breaking. These are just some of the words I’ll use to describe The Color of our Sky! The cover drew me in from the start. I’ll admit that. But I never imagined the story would be so hard to read yet so impossible to put down.

The alternating narratives makes it easier to understand as one character retells what went on in the past and the other focuses on the present. Tara, having treated Mukta unjustly in the past, returns 11 years later to undo a wrong. Guilt eats away at her and the only way she can redeem her wrongdoings is by finding Mukta, though she isn’t certain of whether or not such a feat will be possible.

Mukta, unfortunately, falls prey to the circumstances of her birth and a tradition dating back thousands of years. She describes her life in detail, giving the reader vivid insight of the injustices committed in the name of tradition, especially to children who can’t even consent or refuse what is being forced on them.

The Color of our Sky is a story of hope. Of revindication. Provides a believable example of what needs to change in order save more innocents live. While I won’t go in detail of what when on in the book, I will recommend you pick a copy up and read it. It’s lovely, but sad. Beautifully written and engaging. Will take you on a roller coaster ride full of emotions.

After reading this book it makes me value the simpler things in life. Even when The Color of our Sky is a work of fiction, it hits a nerve because it’s not too far from reality.

About the Author: Amita Trasi

Amita Trasi was born and raised in Mumbai, India. She has an MBA in Human Resource Management and has worked with various International corporations for seven years. She currently lives in Houston with her husband and two cats. The Color of Our Sky is her first novel.

For More Information:

Visit Amita Trasi’s website.

Connect with Amita on Facebook and Twitter.

Contact Amita.

Forbidden Love by Tamaria Soana

Genre: Erotic Romance Forbidden Love

What happens when you meet your destiny but you both belong to someone else?

Carmelita Heaton married her high school sweetheart. The first few years of marriage were bliss. As her husband climbed the corporate ladder and began to travel for his job, they slowly grew apart.
Before long, their marriage was reduced to seeing each other a few times a month in passing, leaving no emotional connection. In the midst of all this, Carm needed to find a new job because the doctor she worked for was retiring. Her life starts to spin out of control when she begins her new job as an RN for an OB/GYN.
Doctor Dylan Gates’ professional life needed to run smoothly since his personal life was falling apart. His wife Lydia suffered a nervous breakdown a few years prior, after she lost her twin sister. Doctor
Gates threw himself into his work. He’s a man set in his ways, but when his long time nurse moved out of town; he’s forced to hire someone new.
Dylan and Carm’s instant attraction leaves them both struggling to do the right thing. How long can they fight to stay away from their destiny?
Content warning: adult language and adult sexual situations, graphic sexual content, anal play.
This book contains an extra marital affair so if that’s not your thing then I would advise you not to read this story

I got out of my car and looked around, making sure no one noticed me, and slipped into the building. When I reached the condo, I pulled out my keys to unlock the door. I was stunned to hear music coming from the bedroom. Was he early? On our bedroom door, I found a note.

My Sweet Carmelita,
Happy six months, darling I won’t be long, make yourself comfortable and I will be by your side soon. I love you.


I slowly opened the door and was blown away by what I found. My eyes scanned the room trying to take it all in. There was champagne chilling, romantic music playing, and candles aglow everywhere. It took my breath away and my heart melted. If it was possible, I fell deeper in love with Dylan.

I went over to the closet to find something sexy to wear. I found one of his shirts, picked it up and brought it to my nose, inhaling his scent of cedar and musk. I shed my clothes, then slipped the shirt on. I wrapped my arms around myself and took a deep breath. I couldn’t believe we had been together for six months.

I grabbed a glass of champagne, walked over to bed, and made myself comfortable. I thought back over the last six months with Dylan and how he had changed me. He brought me out of my self-imposed shell. I felt beautiful, adored and sexy again. He made me laugh and challenge myself, but most of all I knew he loved me.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear him come in. I looked up and there he was, my white knight, leaning in the entry way, staring at me.

“Dylan,” I screeched while sitting up. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to watch you. You take my breath away; you’re so sexy and beautiful,” he said in a deep, husky voice as he walked towards me. Before I knew it, his warm, wet lips were on mine, kissing me passionately until I was flat on my back.

“I need you so bad, baby. You’re so sexy in my shirt, but it has to go.”

“I need you too. Take me…please!”

~99 cents until 7/31~
Buy Links:   Amazon    
What readers are saying about Forbidden Love…”If you are looking for a story that will make you feel hope for love and a happily ever after, Forbidden Love is a must read. Ms. Soana’s characters will leave you breathless.”

“This was a fast read that flowed smoothly and kept me intrigued.”
“I loved this book… I recommend to all my friends, a must read.”

Watch the Trailer: 

About the Author:

Tamaria Soana is middle-aged but feels like her life has just begun. She writes contemporary romance stories with a high heat level that always end with a ‘happily ever after’. Growing up, she loved to read and make up new places in her head to escape to. In her late teens she began writing short stories and poetry. It wasn’t until her late thirties before she began to spin a full story.

She’s married and a stay-at-home mom of two beautiful young girls. They reside in Western New York. Cuddling up with a good book under an electric throw is her way to escape the cold Buffalo nights.

Besides writing, she co-owns Shades of Rose Media and produces book trailers. Five of her book trailers have been featured on the USA Today’s Happy Ever After site.

Author Links:    Site Facebook Twitter YouTube    


Tamaria is giving away three Forbidden Love swag bracelets during her tour.
For a chance to win please fill out the rafflecopter below.

Dating Wars by Ravyn Rayne

Dating Wars
Federal Agent Chronicles Series #2
by Ravyn Rayne
Publication Date: July 6, 2015
Publisher: Blushing Books


Finding love in all the wrong places.

When a serial rapist and murderer targets women on an online dating website, FBI Agent Leslie Hunter must pose as a potential match at a bar. How hard could it be? She’s been dating online for years.

While undercover, Leslie meets a handsome gentleman. She can’t tell Kevin her profession without ruining the investigation. How long can she keep this man out of danger without revealing she’s an FBI Agent?

A taste of pole dancing, phone sex, and spankings combined with a lick of danger. A romantic erotica story that’s sure to leave your heart racing and pleased afterwards.

Purchase Links

Amazon US –
Amazon UK –
Amazon CA –
Barnes & Noble –

Other Books in the Series

Amazon US/UK

Meet Ravyn Rayne

Ravyn is a sassy, fun-loving, and adventure-seeking young woman. She loves to travel and can’t wait for her next vacation, wherever it might be.
Ravyn writes romantic erotica. She began writing romance novels in college, spending her down time either reading a book or writing fiction. Please don’t make her choose between the two, she loves them equally.
Although BURNING DESIRE is her debut romantic erotica novel, it is not her first published book. She has been published professionally since 2013. You can find her other books here.
Stalker Links
For less steamy reads: Blog | Facebook | Twitter

Book blitz for Minutes Before Sunset by Shannon A. Thompson

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Title:  Minutes Before Sunset
Series:  The Timely Death Trilogy #1
Author:   Shannon A. Thompson
Published:  July 28th, 2015  
Publisher:  Clean Teen Publishing
Genre:  YA Paranormal Romance
Content Warning:  Violence, Adult Language
Recommended Age:  13+

Synopsis:  Two destinies.
One death.

“Her kiss could kill us, and my consent signed our death certificates.”

Eric Welborn isn’t completely human, but he isn’t the only shade in the small Midwest town of Hayworth. With one year left before his eighteenth birthday, Eric is destined to win a long-raging war for his kind. But then she happens. In the middle of the night, Eric meets a nameless shade, and she’s powerful—too powerful—and his beliefs are altered. The Dark has lied to him, and he’s determined to figure out exactly what lies were told, even if the secrets protect his survival.

Jessica Taylor moves to Hayworth, and her only goal is to find more information on her deceased biological family. Her adoptive parents agree to help on one condition: perfect grades. And Jessica is distraught when she’s assigned as Eric’s class partner. He won’t help, let alone talk to her, but she’s determined to change him—even if it means revealing everything he’s strived to hide.

Excerpt from Minutes Before Sunset by Shannon A. Thompson:
“You look mad,” he said, quieter this time.
I wouldn’t look at him. “I am.”
“Because I don’t get you,” I admitted. “I have no idea why you’re acting this way, and it makes me feel like I don’t know you.”
“I didn’t realize you wanted to know me,” he said, and I turned around, momentarily meeting his eyes. They were dark, shadowed by an expression I hadn’t seen before.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, feeling heat crawl over my neck. “We’ve already spent a lot of time together.”
“For a project that’s completed, Jessica,” he said, and he shook his head, driving silently through my neighborhood. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. Soon, we were at the end of my driveway. Eric shoved the gears into park, and I reached for the door, but he locked it.
“Why are you so interested in my life?” he asked, and my heart pounded. I didn’t say anything. His eyes met mine, filled with an intensity that made me shudder. “It’s not that great.”
“I know,” I managed. My voice was shaking.
            His face reddened. “But you ask questions.”
            “And you answer them.”
            His mouth opened, but then it snapped shut. He sighed, turned away, and grabbed the steering wheel as if he were driving again. We remained parked. “I’m Eric James Welborn,” he stated, his voice wavering into an awkwardness I’d never heard with his normally confident and cocky attitude.
            James? His middle name felt personal—like he had opened up a side of himself he’d forgotten about. But I didn’t feel intrusive. I felt comforted, like I already knew the answer before he’d spoken it. But I hadn’t.
            “Your name doesn’t tell me who you are,” I said, surprised by my fluidity.
            He barely smiled. “Maybe I like it that way.”
            “I don’t.”

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About the Author:
Shannon A. Thompson is a twenty-three-year-old author, avid reader, and habitual chatterbox. She was merely sixteen when she was first published, and a lot has happened since then. Thompson’s work has
appeared in numerous poetry collections and anthologies, and her first installment of The Timely Death Trilogy became Goodreads’ Book of the Month. As a novelist, poet, and blogger, Thompson spends her free time writing and sharing ideas with her black cat named after her favorite actor, Humphrey Bogart. Between writing and befriending cats, she graduated from the University of Kansas with a bachelor’s degree in English, and she travels whenever the road calls her.

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Santeria & Sorcery (The Tithe Collector book One) by Lola White

Book Description:
Magic is necessary to all things, but like any other source of power, it can be abused. The king of gods has created a Special Collections Team to deal with illegal magic users, those who break the law set forth by the Council of Five. Being part of the team is not an honor however, but a punishment for the crimes the teammates have committed themselves.
Zahra is a magic-addicted djinn charged with the capital crime of consorting with humans. Niccolo is a vampire who betrayed his goddess. Beryl is a fairy assassin demoted for her transgressions against a queen. Wade is the only human on the team, and though his inclusion is supposed to be a compliment, it’s clear there’s a larger plan in play.
From tragic romance to zealous belief, the Special Collections Team is in over their heads, but still must find a way to be successful in their investigations, pay their penance and learn to work as a team.
In Santeria & Sorcery, their first case finds them in Miami, where trouble has come to the attention of the Council of Five. A sorcerer is stealing magic to set himself up as a god, but the team is new and each are unused to working well with others. Their personal issues also hinder their investigation—dealing with bloodthirsty boyfriends, jealous fairy kings and a dangerous fallen angel on top of their own emotional deficiencies take a toll.
The Tithe Collector is an erotic series and does include graphic scenes: M/M, M/F and multiple partners.
“I think this team has been assembled as more than punishment. I know Niccolo is well placed in vampire society, for all he believes he is not. From what he’s said, I think Zahra also has some importance she is not telling. Beryl has served her
goddess for a thousand years, and people say simply speaking the assassin’s name is enough to make Lucifer’s Fallen cower in fear.”
“So what?”
The bouda shook his head. “And you are Blessed. I think the team is being used for a bigger purpose than what we’ve been led to believe.”
“Sure, Chimbwe, that’s possible.” But that’s all I was prepared to say on the matter, at that moment with his words of war mocking my memories. I was half-believing, and half-resistant to the idea. On one hand, it was excellent strategy to take
the wind from the enemies’ sails, on the other, it was hard to imagine God being so manipulative.
“I don’t know what is going on yet,” Chimbwe whispered. “But the team needs to learn to trust each other. I am afraid of what may happen in the future, and I do not want Niccolo caught in something that may lead to his death.”
I waved my mug because it seemed a better option than putting it down to cross my arms over my chest. “So you and I need to be all buddy-buddy to get the job done. Is that it?”
Chimbwe grimaced. “Even if my suspicions are not correct, this team must meet the expectations of the Council in order to be released from their punishments. I want Niccolo to be free, so you four will need to work as one.”
I weighed his words carefully. I was used to being a part of a team that shared the same training, values and goals. This team, though, was all over the map. They only spoke to each other when they had to, came from different Nations, definitely
had different training because I couldn’t imagine Zahra or Niccolo handling a weapon like Beryl, and they all reported in to different leaders.
Hell of a team. Four of us were moving in four different directions, and it seemed Chimbwe wanted to be our wise guide, leading us all into a cohesive whole. A wise guide might be just what we all needed.
That realization had me sitting back down at the table. “I would like this team to work together,” I told him. “Considering the monsters we might run up against, our lives might depend on it.”
Lola White writes what she writes, which is erotic fiction. Sometimes horror, sometimes paranormal, sometimes romance. It’s all sexy, but never predictable because she likes to twist reality at its edges in her stories. She likes delving into the emotions
of her characters, finding their strengths and weaknesses, and seeing (and showing) how they get themselves out of whatever trouble has found them—if they can.
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